Ordeals
by Noorah
Summary: This is my take on Neal's ordeal. I wrote this a few years ago, but revised it. Under Neal's Ordeal on my profile. K/N


(I was re-reading some of my older fics, and decided that I would edit them. This is the first of about four that I've decided to edit, so keep an eye out for it! I own nothing, just playing in the sandbox!)

Neal blinked wearily as the priest prodded him from his meditation. He opened his mouth to speak, and closed it once again, slowly remembering his Knight-mistresses' orders. He clambered to his feet and winced, waiting as his leg muscles cramped from the hours of unmoving meditation he had finished moments before. 'Into the fire, live or die.' He told himself softly, walking slowly into the small box-like room.

The door shut behind him with a clang.

He waited.

_Kel stood across from a snarling Joren, her sword out in front of her as she faced her foe. Neal tried to interfere, to slip his way between the two fighting knights, to protect his best friend, but his feet would not move from his spot at the edge of the hall. He watched unblinking as Kel swung herself forward in the attack, two swords clanging, Joren's missing her narrowly. _

_He desperately tried to get to Kel, to save her, and found his feet one again unmoving. Reaching out frantically, he opened his mouth to yell something, anything, if only it would distract Joren long enough for Kel to get away._

_His mouth shut, his hands fell to his sides, and Neal shut his eyes tightly against the scene. He had been helpless, and Kel had been run through by Joren's sword._

He found himself on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the hands that had reached so urgently out to Kel. He let his hands drop to the cool stone, bowing his head as the tears dripped off his nose and onto the floor, never once making a sound.

_A group of knights his age rode towards the ships that would take them to battle. The joking and laughing was that it had always been, lighthearted and teasing. Of all his year mates, Neal rode out of that battle with his life, unable to save his friends. As he rode Hoshi, his mind numbly wandered to why they had ventured into a situation they knew was a trap._

His eyes darted about franticly, his position on the floor never moving, his silence never once breaking. The tears were still rolling down his face, the un-dyed cotton of his tunic soaked through with sweat. He didn't care about this, he just wanted out of this small, strange room that kept killing his friends.

_He stood in a vast chamber, behind a large group of people, watching the scene with wary eyes. The king stood beside Alanna and Raoul, the two knights looking quite shocked with whatever news they had just received._

_Alanna headed towards where Neal stood, stopping before his mother and father to bow and swallow. "My lord wishes me to inform you that your son and daughter in law were found." Her voice broke and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "They were found not far from the camp, both having been killed in what looked like an attack from behind." _

_Neal's mother gasped and the tears rolled down her face as she turned blindly into her husband who held her grimly. _

_Neal saw across the room, Kel's parents reacting the same way, her siblings staring at one another in shock. He turned away, but not before he could see the tear tracks on both father's faces._

A bright light pulled him from the vision and he pushed himself up, resting his forhead against the wall for a moment to steady his breathing. Straightening up, he left the chambers, searching for the one person that had haunted his ordeal the most. His eyes lighted on her quickly, and he made his way to the smiling girl, taking the blanket she offered with thanks. Beside her stood Yuki, staring down at her feet as she studiously avoided the now knights eyes.

He was then tugged away from Kel, catching a small box she tossed his way clumsily, tucking it into his pocket gently as he followed his knight-mistress to his rooms and a bath.

When he opened it later, he smiled. One of her waving cats, his favorite one, was nestled into the cotton. He lifted it up to look at, flipping it to stare at the bottom. There, in her tiny meticulous handwriting, _Sir Nealen of Queenscove._

As he was knighted by the King later that night, he wore the cat hanging from his belt.


End file.
